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SALVAGE 

ELIZABETH C. CARDOZO 




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SALVAGE 



ELIZABETH C. CARDOZO 

ii 




RICHARD G. BADGER 

THE GORHAM PRESS 
BOSTON 



Cpyright 1912 by Elizabeth C Cardozo 
All Rights Reserved 






^^ 



Some of these poems are reprinted by the kind permission 
of the editors of The Century Magazine, Scribner's Maga- 
zine, The Independent, The Cosmopolitan, New England 
Magazine and Lippincotf s Magazine. 



The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A, 



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Cci.A320a38 



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TO MY COUSIN, 
JOSEPHINE LAZARUS 

My little book must go out into the world 
without the help you proflFered; it must lack your 
guidance, your keen word of praise or blame. 

Yet perhaps, — who knows? — my thought of 
love and gratitude may reach across to you today 
when I write your name in my book. 



CONTENTS 

Salvage: To K. A. T 7 

Love's Court 8 

Love's Epiphany 9 

The Coming of Love 10 

Love's Guerdon 11 

Sorrow Transformed 13 

Dialogue 14 

Spring Song 15 

Brotherhood 16 

Moods 17 

Sunrise 18 

Spring Mood 19 

Repentance 20 

The Swan- Wife 21 

Marsyas 28 

The Singer 29 

Happiness 30 

Art Creed 31 

Creation 33 

The Choice 34 

Failure 35 

It Hath Been Already of Old Time 36 

One by One the Souls Fared Forth 37 

Pain 38 

Circumstance 38 

A Madman 39 

Duality 40 

The Pursuit of Happiness 41 

Realization 43 

Outlived Pain 44 

The New Inferno 45 

What of the Night? 46 

Before the Mercy Seat 47 

To My Sister— Ellen 48 



SALVAGE: TO K. A. T. 

Shipwreck! Along the shore, 
As far as the eye can reach, 

A lifetime's treasured store 
Cast on the beach. 

Look where the sated sea 
Creeps to its rest again; 

Shall there no salvage be 
From so much pain? 

Out of the wreckage and wrong 
What shall I save in the end?- 

The pain-born spirit of song, 
And one true friend. 



LOVE'S COURT 

"To cast for love the crown of love away." 

— A. C. Swinburne. 

I stood before the Gate that leads to Love's 
Court, and clamored for entrance. 

Then he that guards the Gate made question of 
me: What hast thou done that thou shouldst 
enter here? Art thou of Love's chosen.? 

I said: All my life I have dreamt of Love; I 
would be his faithful acolyte. 

But he that guards the Door made answer: 
Thou canst not enter in. 

So I wandered over the earth many days, and 
at last I found myself again at Love's Court, and 
again I clamored for entrance. 

Then he that guards the Gate questioned me: 
What hast thou done? 

And I said: I have loved, and I have kept love 
before me as a light to guide my steps. 

But Love's Gate-Keeper answered: Thou 
canst not enter in. 

And it was again many days before I came to 
Love's Court, but this time my hands were cut 
and bleeding and the iron had entered into my 
soul. 

So when the Gate-Keeper questioned me, I 
showed my bruises. I have suffered, I said, I 
have gotten these for Love. 

But the Gate-Keeper only smiled and shook his 
head. 

Now, after a many days' wandering over the 
face of the earth, I found myself again, all una- 
wares, at the Gate of the Court of Love. 

And even before I spoke the Gate-Keeper 
questioned me. What hast thou done? he said. 

I answered : Nay, this time I know that I may 
not enter in. For Love's sake I have renounced 
love. 

But the Gate flew open. 



LOVE'S EPIPHANY 

Thus much the implacable face of life defies, 
Thus much defies death's absolute decree, — 
One hour that claims of fate immunity 

By right divine of birth, not suppliant- wise, 

But calm, triumphal, in compellant guise, 
This one redress, this salvage falls to me. 
This one hour saved of all eternity. 

Spared of the sacrificial flames that rise. 

We two within the cinctured silence there. 

Looking on God's fair world with quickened 

sight, 
In that awed hush when souls meet face to face 

Through the heart's deep discernment were aware 
Of rushing wings and sudden blinding light, 
As of Love's visible presence in the place. 



THE COMING OF LOVE 

Into the mournful circle of my Woes 

A stranger Presence stole, swift-footed, white, 

Whose glorious advent cast a sheer affright 
On that grim host, my Griefs; they straightway 

rose. 
And pallid, shrinking, torn by terror-throes. 

Spake shudderingly: "Behold this radiance 
bright, 

This new strong Presence! Lo, in our despite, 
An alien thing here in our concourse goes. " 

But Love drew near and spoke, and at his word 
My smitten throng of sorrows raised their head. 
As if in answer to a sign they knew. 
Some secret bond of fellowship was stirred, 
A strange, mysterious sympathy; Love said: 
"Nay, fear me not, for I am one of you!" 



10 



LOVE'S GUERDON 

Love saith: If thou wilt bring 

The gracious tribute of a perfect faith. 

Each secret thought, each consecrated thing. 
If thou wilt bring, Love saith; 

If thou wilt freely give 

Thy life-work, life itself, if need should be, 
Or what is more, for my sake dare to live, 

My servant utterly; 

If thou wilt bring, saith Love, 
A single purpose, and a broken heart, 

And set thy fealty to me above 
Thy hopes, thy aims, thy art; 

If thou wilt offer me 

All thy life's hours and deem the tribute small, 
Owning my absolute supremacy; 

If thou wilt offer all. 

Love saith; if thou wilt dwell 

In the low places of the earth, content 

To hearken to my voice half audible, 
Nor give thy longing vent; 

If this, and more than this, 

Thou wilt endure for love of me. Love saith, 
Hear thou thy lot, how very sweet it is. 

The guerdon of thy faith. 

I do adjudge thee fit 

To bow in worship at my shrine, but I 
Will turn my face, with gracious promise lit, 

On them that pass me by. 



11 



Thou, all thy weary days, 

Mayst gaze on me afar by night and morn, 
But only they shall look upon my face 

That laugh my name to scorn. 



12 



SORROW TRANSFORMED 

Let us be friends, O Sorrow of my life, 

Why should we not be friends? — 
Thou that with artful turnings of thy knife 

Hast served me friendship's ends; 
Thou that hast torn me from the quiet place 

Where pleasure held me fast; 
Thou to whose force my every good I trace, — 

Let us be friends at last. 

Let us be friends; I would not we should part, 

Thou source and soul of song; 
I would not have thee other than thou art. 

Love's foster-mother strong; 
If thou shouldst leave me I should surely miss 

Thine ever- watchful eyes; — 
Alas, what mockery of fate is this. 

That thou shouldst don Love's guise ! 



13 



DIALOGUE 

I said to Love : Why hast thou thus undone me? 

Love said, dissembling: Nay, have I indeed 
done so? 

I said: Henceforth I forbid thee my presence. 

Love said: Thou shalt bear the memory of me 
to thy grave. 

I said: Nay, now, I will not release thee; thou 
shalt be my servitor forever. 

Love said: Art thou then stronger than I? 

I said: Alas, no; thou hast proven thyself my 
master. Lead and I follow. 

Love said: It shall be well with thee; have no 
fear. Thou shalt suffer, but have no fear. Thou 
shalt sorrow, but have no fear. Thou shalt die, 
but fear not. 

Alas, Love, I said, and again, Ah, Love, alas. 

Said Love: Fear not; I will abide with thee. 



14 



SPRING SONG 

In the recurrent pauses of the night 

Not all unmeet is pain. 
But how shall I endure it when the light 

Of morning comes again? 

When the black clouds of winter hedge me 
round, 

Grief is no alien thing. 
But how shall I support the sight and sound 

And ardor of the spring! 



15 



BROTHERHOOD 

The air is full of whirring wings, 

Past ken of touch or sight. 
And beautiful mysterious things 

Call through the conscious night. 

The mounting sap is in my blood, 

I hear the growing grass; 
All nature shapes me to her mood, 

And greets me as I pass, 

I read the rune of bud and leaf 

And horny acorn cup; 
Their joy, and their peculiar grief, — 

Each yields the secret up. 

Their hidden meaning plain I con, 
And greet them brotherly . . . 

Ah, not of choice this gift I won; 
'Twas straitly laid on me. 

Through days and nights of bitter woe, 

At sorrow's furthest reach. 
My sense grew quick in me; I know 

The universal speech. 



16 



MOODS 

Am I wholly glad today? — 
Or is it that perfect pain. 

In some unaccounted way 

That our wits can never sound, 
Running the cycle round, 

Has grown half glad again? 

Or who shall say to me 

Why to-day my heart is sad? 
Is it but truly this, 
That the very top of bliss 
Owns a strange affinity 
With all woful things that be, 
And we that are sad grow glad ! 



17 



SUNRISE 

Darkness, and yet but now there went 

Across the dreaming land, 
A hint of some divine event. 

Portentous, close at hand. 

The waiting silence grew intense. 

As thrilled to passing wings; 
I heard not; saw not, for my sense 

Is gross with earthly things. 

A prescience of the coming day 

Stirs the tall waiting ships; 
The old oak monarch seems to lay 

A JBnger on his lips. 

Some word attuned beyond my ear 

Is presaged by the hour; 
My sense is holden, but 'tis clear 

To every tree and flower. 

A throng of night-dreams, wan and spent. 
One moment round me pressed . . . 

See, now, in His high firmament. 
Godhead made manifest. 



18 



SPRING MOOD 

The miracle of life renewed 

Upon the old decay, 
In wondrous clear similitude 

Is in the fields today. 

The earth's expectant and athrill, 

A palpitant live thing; 
While joyously, with chirp and trill. 

The birds profess the spring. 

And underneath the bursting sod 

The new glad forms are rife. 
Till that recurrent word of God 

Shall summon them to life- 
All things, all creatures, seem to share 

The deep divine unrest . . . 
The memory of an old despair 

Is quick within my breast. 



19 



REPENTANCE 

In the heart of the silent night, and in the glare 
of the lurid day, my Sin was beside me. As I 
moved among my fellows, they saw the shadow 
of his black wings upon me, and they held them- 
selves aloof. 

Accursed, they cried. Unclean! 

Wherefore I went my way silently, with my 
Sin for my only companion. 

But in the heart of the black night I faced him, 
and let my glance meet his. And we understood 
one another. 

Then it befell after many days, and by reason 
of much suffering, that there came a change. 
For behold, this black Sin that towered above 
me, grew paler and paler of aspect, until at last 
there shone out a white light from within that 
transformed him. 

Nevertheless as I move among my fellows, they 
cry: Accursed, unclean! For with a curious 
blindness they still see him only as he once was, 
and they perceive not that through long vigils, 
and because of many tears, he has acquired a 
strange glory. 

But I only smile, and look at my transfigured 
companion, and we go our solitary way. 



20 



THE SWAN- WIFE 

(Clare Coast, Ireland.) 

The house of Conon, rough, but showing signs 
of comfort and even of adornment; in short, an 
expression of the man himself, a strange mixture 
of fineness and brutality. 

Ingrid, his wife, has just put the baby in his 
crib, and is crooning over him, while two little 
girls in night-dresses, nestle sleepily against her. 
She is fair, with another fairness than that of 
the women of Ireland. 

Ingrid sings 
The wind is calling, calling, round Aran in the sea; 
The birds fly now to the north, — and the wind 

cries ceaselessly; — 
O bitter cold wind in my heart, will you never let 
me be? 

The wind is blowing, blowing, — I feel in my 

heart its blast,- — 
Out of the far-off isles, out of the far-off past; — 
Silence, O wind, and peace! I must come to 

your arms at last. 

Muireall 
Mother, I heard the women talk today; 
'Tis what they said (and no way true at all!) 
That some bright morning we should wake to find 
Your arm-chair empty, and should seek and seek, 
But never find you. Say it is not so. 
Dear mother, say it was a lie they spoke. 

Ingrid 
Nay, little one, at any eve or morn 
Which of us all may say he shall be here? 
Has not the mistress taught you so at school? 
21 



Eilie, in a baby lisp 
Mamaeen, say that you will never go. 
Or we shall cry and cry. 

Muireall 
Oh, yes, at school 
They teach us as you say, but 'twas not that 
Old Granny Murphy whispered, no, not that. 

Ingrid, scornfully 
And what said Goodwife Murphy, I would hear! 

Muireall 
A many, many tales. But once she thought 
I was not heeding, and she spoke of things 
So strange I shivered after in my bed; — 
Of little children that the fairies stole; 
Of duinshee music; and at last — at last — 

Ingrid, softly 
Ay, little one, what was't she said at last? 

Muireall 
A dreadful story how a sober man. 
With no companion but his dog and gun. 
Went to the woods a-hunting; and he saw 
A flock of great white swans and shot at them. 
So one fell wounded; and it cried to him 
With human sobbing, and — when he drew near — 

Ingrid 
Why do you falter.'* — Sure 'tis naught to us. 

Muireall 
Mother, when he drew near he found a maid 
All white and gold and red (but red with blood) 
And when he questioned her she answered him. 



But in a strange sweet tongue he did not know. 

Nor ever heard the like of. So he bound 

Her wounded shoulder up and brought her home. 

Ingrid clasps her hands to her side. 
Mother, what is it ails you? 

Ingrid 

But the pang 
Oi an old hurt was done me long ago. 
Tell out the tale. 

Muireall 
Why then, because he thought 
Of all the maids 'twas she was loveliest, 
He took her for his wife. 

Ingrid 
Sure, he was brave! 

Muireall 
Through many days they only talked in signs. 
Till presently she came to know his tongue. 
Little by little and to speak it too. 
In such a sweet voice, like a flute, or bird, — 

Ingrid 
Why do you stop? 

Muireall 

O Mothereen, to me 
Your voice is sweet, the sweetest thing I know. 
But Biddy Kean, she said, — 'twas like a bird's. 

Ingrid {laughing and drawing her to her) 
Come, little wise one, here 'neath mother's wing; 
Now tell the story out. 

Muireall 

The days were years. 
And still they dwelt together and were glad 



When little children came. But one black day 
Food was not plenty, and the man went out 
Into the woods a-hunting with his gun; 
And when he came at dusk to his own door 
He smiled to think how wife and weans should 

feast 
On what he brought them. Down he threw his 

load 
Which the dogs sniffed at, — two fine white wild 

swans ! 

Ingrid, clutching at her breast 
Ah, that old pain again! 

Muireall, absorbed in the tale 

The wife stood up, 
And not a word spoke she, but called her weans, 
And these came running. Then she hugged them 

close, 
And slowly, slowly drew them to the door, — 
The while her man stood still and gaped at them. 
And then she gave a cry, a dreadful cry. 
Such, Granny Murphy says, as women give 
Whose hearts are breaking, — ^that I know not of; 
Then out into the night with all her weans 
Went she. And he, her goodman, waking up 
From the strange spell had held him, followed her 
By scarce a minute's space, — ^but 'twas too late, 
For all he saw in all the wide dim sky 
Was four white swans were winging to the sea. 

Ingrid 
Such tales as these are not for little ears; 
Too true they are, and false, — ^yea, both at once. 
When you are older you will understand 
(God save you from the knowing!), how it is 
A man may love and love and hurt you so 
To drive you from him . . . Now 'tis time 
to sleep. 

24 



Eilie, in a sleepy murmur 
Dear mammy, take us with you when you fly! 

Ingrid: 
Be sure, dear heart, I will not leave you here. 

She puts them to bed, singing: 
The wind is calling, calling; the birds sleep in the 

nest: 
For little birds and babies, the mother-wing is 

best; 
But what of bird or mother that knows not any 

rest! 

The wind is dalling, calling; it rocks the babe to 

sleep: 
The winter dusk is falling, but we that wake to 

weep. 
What hope shall cheer or lighten the vigil we must 

keep! 

Conon enters. Conon: 
Well, lass, still crooning, crooning! You will 

wake 
The night-birds with that long-drawn eerie cry. 
I wonder, now, the babes can sleep to it. 

Ingrid 
Conon, — time was — ^you loved my singing voice. 

Conon 
Time was I loved the milk my mother gave. 

Ingrid 
You mean — ^you mean — ? 

Conon 

Why nothing, lass, at all; 
A man grows weary of these questionings. 
^5 



Ingrid, slowly: 
A man grows weary, — 'tis a true word that ! 

Conon, in sudden fury: 
And if I do, who is't shall say me nay? 
I doubt you've heard the news that comes from 

far 
Of women talking in the market-place; 
Of women fain to do the governing; 
Of women claiming equal rights with men! 

Ingrid 
Of women spreading wings to reach the heights! 

Conon, giving her a look of mingled fear and anger: 
Ay, wings, a true word that, if folk say sooth. 

(Suddenly deciding to assert himself) 
Mind this, my lass, I'll stand no folly here. 
You lost your wings if wings you had indeed. 
When you became my wife. In that far land 
Across the water whence you say you came 
(Whose speech still clings upon your tongue at 

whiles), 
They give their womankind a deal too much; — 
They've made them now the equals of their men! 
Not so it was when, in the ancient days. 
Those wild and hardy rovers of the sea 
Fought with the Gael for foothold in the land; 
But now their eyes grow dim, their prowess wanes, 
And they grow childish, nearing to their end. 
But here's enough of words, a woman's war 
Of breath, not blows; yet blows may come at need, 
When words shall fail me. Look you to it, so. 

He goes out. Ingrid stands quite still a moment; 
then: 
It is the end. I come from a free clime 
Freeborn of freemen. lattle ones, awake! 
26 



You open on me frighted eyes of blue. 

So like, so like to his. And his you are, 

A part of him that I must bear away, 

A thorn of love forever in my flesh 

To mind me of these days that now are done. 

Wake, little blue-eyes! — we are bound tonight 

For a far land. 

Eilie 
Oh, mammy, shall we fly? 

Ingrid 
Yes, in a great white ship with wide-spread wings. 

Muireall 
Shall we have plumage? 

Ingrid, taking cloaks from a chest: 

Yes, to keep us warm. 

Muireall 
And spells? — And magic? 

Ingrid, holding up a purse: 

To make smooth the way. 



Dadaeen? 



Eilie, suddenly 



Ingrid 
He'll take comfort, never fear. 

She lifts the hoy from his crib, draws them all to 
the door, and then slowly out into the night. 



27 



MARSYAS 

To hear Apollo play upon his lyre, 

To struggle bravely, and, not least, to know 

It was a god that caused our overthrow. 
To feel within us the immortal fire, — 
What more, in truth, might earth-born bard 
desire? — 

What more has life, the niggard, to bestow? — 
What fate diviner waits us here below 

Than this — to live, to strive, and to expire? 

Thrice happy Marsyas! In the cruel death 
The god, ungenerous in his triumph, gave. 
Didst thou not smile within thy heart to know 

That since he stilled thy music-laden breath. 
And hid thy gold- voiced flute within the grave, 
Apollo knew thee for no paltry foe? 



28 



THE SINGER 

God shaped my lips for making song, 
Fashioned my heart to harbor pain, 

And set hfe's music, clear and strong, 
To beat upon my brain; 

Gave me my birth of that strange race 
Wherefrom His ancient prophets sprung, 

And in my accents hid a trace 
As of an elder tongue; 

Taught me to touch the chord aright 
That stirs the fountainhead of tears, 

And set the seal upon my sight 
Wherewith He brands His seers. 

A braver lot shall scarce befall, 

Nor yet more cruel, nor yet more fair; 

All joy to feel, to suffer all 
Pangs whereto man is heir. 

To have no lot apart from this. 
No happiness, no love, no wrong. 

But soul and body shaped as His 
Stringed instrument of song. 



29 



HAPPINESS 

I did not dream, I could not know, 
That life contained such bliss, 

That from a tiny germ might grow 
Such happiness as this. 

At last I read the lesson taught 

In Joy's mysterious eyes, 
As in some sweet wild creature's caught 

And brought me as a prize. 

And this is life! — that irksome gift 

I longed to put away. 
This headlong force that, strong and swift, 

Throbs in my veins to-day. 

My quickened ear harks to a speech 

Of subtle whisperings; 
My heightened consciousness can reach 

The hidden source of things. 

There is a host of secret signs 

And symphonies half-sung. 
As if I read between the lines 

In some forgotten tongue. 

And through it all a meaning runs, 

I surely used to know; 
I must have lived and felt it once 

Long centuries ago. 

A new sweet meaning lurks between 

The pulsing waves of light. 
Dear God, till now I have not seen 

Thy lovely world aright. 



30 



ART CREED 

Paint me not the blue expanse 

Of the old unquiet sea; 
Paint the human countenance, 

With its Sphinx-like mystery; 
Paint the baffling human glance, 

Veiled, elusive, though it be. 

In strong rugged charcoal sketch, 

Not the summer's luke-warm mood, 

Not the clover-dappled stretch. 
Nor the sweet pine-pungent wood; 

Paint the aspect of the wretch 
Doomed to peopled solitude. 

Let thy nerved hand translate, 
Through unerring sympathy, 

All the mocks and scoffs of fate 
That the sun lays bare to thee; 

Tragedies of souls that wait 
The immutable decree. 

With strong pitying fingers trace, 
Tutored by thy human heart. 

Passions of the human race. 
Moulded to gigantic art; 

Poems of the human face. 

Soiled and sodden by the mart. 

Down-trod, vanquished, though they be, 

All divested of romance. 
Search thou closely, thou shalt see 

Clearer than the rest, perchance; 
In the deeps of misery 

Read the eloquent mute glance. 



31 



Thou shall see in recompense, 
'Neath the outer semblance rude, 

With a finer, subtler sense, 
The high spirit, unsubdued; 

See beneath each vain pretense 
The divine similitude. 

There shall rise to bless thy work, 
Clear as writing on a scroll. 

Where the densest shadows lurk. 
Flashes of the human soul; 

There shall gleam from squalid mirk 
The pale martyr 's aureole. 

Poet, Painter, quit thy dream 

Of a sylvan life apart 
From the world's compelling stream, 

Where men chaffer in the mart; 
Humbly human be thy theme. 

Grandly human be thy art. 



CREATION 

He looked and saw that it was good, — 
The image that his hand had wrought, 
The soul that quickened at his thought ;- 

And knew the great beatitude. 



THE CHOICE 

Before my soul had yet endured the pangs of 
human hfe, God showed me the earth. 

And I beheld a marvellous fair country, where- 
in were streams and trees and edifices, the last 
being the work of the hands of man. 

I said: This world is very fair; I fear not to be 
born therein. 

God said unto me: Look thou closer. 

And behold, when I had looked more closely, 
I saw that there ran hither and thither over the 
face of this fair earth, a mighty throng of crea- 
tures that never rested, but strove unceasingly 
each to destroy the others. Only a few were 
quiet, and these were speedily overcome. 

I asked: What race is this? 

God said: This is man. 

I asked: What doth he unto his brother? 

God said: He preyeth upon him. Behold, I 
have shown thee this that thou mayst choose. 
I send thee into this world that thou seest; wilt 
thou be of them that destroy, or wilt thou be the 
prey? 

I answered : I will be the prey. 

Pity me not, my brothers, that I am destitute 
of the good things of the earth, for I have chosen. 



FAILURE 

We met them on the common way; 

They passed and gave no sign, — 
The heroes who had lost the day. 

The failures, half divine. 

Ranged in a quiet place we see 
Their mighty ranks contain 

Figures too great for victory, 
Hearts too unspoiled for gain. 

Here are earth's splendid failures come 
From glorious foughten fields; 

Some bear the wounds of combat, some 
Are prone upon their shields. 

To us that still do battle here, 

If we in aught prevail. 
Grant, God, a triumph not too dear, 

Or strength like theirs to fail. 



85 



IT HATH BEEN ALREADY OF OLD TIME 

Ecclesiasies 1, 10. 

Oh strange and very beautiful was love, 
New found and radiant, yet was I aware 
Of an unspoken meaning, vague as air, 

That dimly with the wonder interwove; 

So that in vain my groping senses strove 

To fix the fleeting picture, — when and where? 
Then Love: "That distant life we twain did 
share, 

Hast thou brought hence no memories thereof?" 

Half hid and half suggested. Love and Fear 
And Pain still meet me with familiar ways, 
And delicate meanings spoke beneath the 
breath. 
Shall not these hinted messages grow clear 
In that divulgent hour when my gaze 
Shall meet the unforgotten eyes of Death? 



ONE BY ONE THE SOULS FARED FORTH 

One by one the souls fared forth, 

Doomed to earth amain; 
Some were fresh from the Master's mould; 
Some were old as the stars are old, 

Flesh-entombed again. 

Some, remembering (though most forgot, — 

Life and Time are wide), 
Strove to fashion the dream; and some, — 
They the wisest of all, — were dumb. 

"These blaspheme," we cried, "or rave;" 
Hemlock, faggot, and knife, we gave. 
One, but One, in pity and ruth, 
Spoke out clearly love's utmost truth. 

But Him we crucified! 



37 



PAIN 

"I will not let thee go except 

Thou bless me." So throughout the night,- 
Like Jacob in the tale of yore 

On the Judean mountain-height, 
While all about his people slept, 
Unheeding, — ^have I striven with One 

Until the first faint streak of day; 

Transmuting, as the steadfast may, 
A curse into a benison; — 

Yet halt and changed go evermore. 



CIRCUMSTANCE 

To one that trod a lonely road apart. 

There came the summons: "Forth, and seek 

the light! 
Behold thy vista opens clear and bright; 
Good cheer be thine, firm hand, and stalwart 
heart. " 

Ah, God, what if it chance to such an one 
That being long unused unto the day. 
He falter, overborne upon the way, 

What if he stumble, dazzled by the sun? 



38 



A MADMAN 

He wanders lonely in a world of men, 
An alien presence dedicate to dreams. 
Forever to his sense the things that seems 

Is sovereign to what is; the now with then 

Is wonderfully merged unto his ken; 
With nebulous conceits his fancy teems. 
Peopling afresh the forests and the streams 

With many an old-world light-foot denizen. 

Mad, do you call him? — Yea, it may be so. 
For madness knows no law of time or place 
Or circumstance; yet truly who shall say 
In this mad world which substance is, which show.? 
Fresh marvels come to bridge our little space. 
And we have called them mad that led the 
way! 



39 



DUALITY 

Is it indeed my own, and do I reign, 
I, only I, of all my kindred race. 
Absolute lord of this one pleasure-place? — 

This that was erstwhile, too, a place of pain. 

Is there no other that may wrest amain 
The power from me for a little space, 
Speak with my voice, yea, wear my form and 
face, 

Then lightly yield all up to me again? 

I know not, yet have I been half aware 

Of one that sometimes claims for good or ill. 
This habitable form men know for me; 
Shows strange emotions that I may not share, 
Haply enthralls my thought, usurps my will, 
With whom I vainly strive for mastery. 



40 



THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS 

For many days I pursued a beautiful flying 
figure. And when I had come up with it, I be- 
held its face, that it was very fair, and it smiled 
into my eyes. 

I put out my hand and drew it close, whispering : 
Sweet, who art thou? 

It said : Men call me Pleasure, but for thee I 
bear another name. 

I asked: Sweet, wilt thou not tell me the name 
that thou bearest for me alone? 

And it answered : For thee I am Sin. 

I looked longingly into the smiling eyes; never- 
theless I loosed my hand, and turned away. 

There came now across my path, another shape 
of wondrous aspect. I was long pursuing it, and 
when I had come up with it, behold, its face was 
very fair. 

I questioned it: Sweet, who art thou? 

It answered: Some call me Love, but to thee I 
bear another name. One in a thousand meets 
with me; then hold me fast, thou chosen one, for 
but once in a lifetime do I come. 

So I abode with Love for many days before I 
dared to put the question that haunted me. But 
at last I said: Sweet, wilt thou not tell me what 
may be the name that thou bearest for me alone? 

Then Love flashed a glance at me, and answered : 
For thee I am Sin. 

So after one long steadfast look I dropped 
Love's hand and departed. 

Now it befell that on a bitter day in a lonely 
place, a figure passed before me. It fled not 
away from me, but at my call came close. It 
wore, I thought, a quiet look, and in the cold gray 
setting of earth and sky, its face was very fair. 

41 



Who art thou? I questioned it. 

And it answered: I am Death, but for thee, 
nay, for all that summon me, I bear another 
name. 

I said: With thee I shall find Peace. Pleasure 
and Love, both are denied me; what is left me 
but Death? 

And I drew near, and would have clasped It, 
but I bethought me of that other name, and I 
questioned concerning it. 

Death said: For thee, and for all that sum- 
mon me, I am Sin. 

So once more I turned, and went my way, 
sorrowing. 

Then it chanced, after many days, that there 
came one from behind me, silently, and plucked 
me by the sleeve. 

I said: Who art thou, and what wouldst thou 
with me? Art thou, too, of the brood of Sin? 

And I turned and beheld the figure, that it was 
of a hard and rugged aspect, but of a strength 
that was nigh to beauty. 

It answered: Some call me Labor, and some call 
me by another name, but my message is the 
same unto all humanity. 

So I abode with Labor many days, and I ques- 
tioned not concerning that other name, for I had 
learned that it was Peace. 



42 



REALIZATION 

As one born blind that late beholds the light. 
Whose dazzled sense finds each familiar thing 
Strange and awry, and to whose motions cling 

Traces, even yet, of his remembered blight. 

So I, emerging from a joyless night 

Into this day of happiness, whose spring 

Had birth in sorrow, needs must with me bring 

Some note of sadness in new joy's despite. 

I shall grow used to it, no doubt; as yet 
I am too lately seared and scarred by pain. 
Uncertainly, with timid groping hand 
And tear-dimmed eyes that cannot quite forget, 
I draw anear, turn, and approach again. 
As one that vainly strives to understand. 



4S 



OUTLIVED PAIN 

In the long struggle to assuage my woe 

I searched the sleeping past; each little pain, 
Each childish trouble I endured again, 

And as I watched the long procession go 

Great wonder woke within my soul, for lo, 
Each one had been a grief of death full fain, 
Or so I had been wonted to complain. 

And with my tears attest it to be so. 

Whereat within my breast began to rise 
The hope, no sooner born than thrust away. 
That I through tears might learn to smile 
again; 

And looking back with disillusioned eyes 
Upon my conquered sorrow, smiling, say. 
Almost incredulous: "This once was pain." 



44 



THE NEW INFERNO 

I, too, have been through Hell, O Florentine! 

Does not my face proclaim it to be so? 

Bears it not still the impress of the woe, 
The sin, the suffering, that my eyes have seen? 
Could any walk with countenance serene 

Who once the anguish of such sight should 
know? — 

Who through such paths in retrospect must go, 

Is it not written in my altered mien? 

The voice of humankind throughout the years 
Robs feast and dance and carnival of mirth. 
And dims for me the brightness of the day; 

I catch in laughter the low sound of tears. 
So that of me, as once of thee on earth, 
"Lo, who hath been to Hell," the people say. 



45 



WHAT OF THE NIGHT? 

Watehman, what of the night? 
The sun drops red on the hill, 

And the dark draws near apace, 
And the night-wind wreaks its will. 
And I — I have run my race, 
I have fought my latest fight; 
Watchman, what of the night? 

Watchman, what of the night? 
Is it fraught with many a fear? 

Is it silent and dark and cold? 
Is there never a comrade near, 
And never a hand to hold, 
Nor promise at last of light? 
Watchman, what of the night? 

Watchman, what of the night? 
I have fought and fallen and lost; 

I have fought and striven and gained. 
And which at the heavier cost? 
But a whisper still remained 
Of an unrevealed delight; 
Watchman, what of the night? 

Watchman, what of the night? 
Nay, is there aught to tell? 

Can it prove more strange than this? 
If I wake, why it is well; 
If I sleep, why well it is. 
So there come no dreams to fright; — 
Watchman, what of the night? 



46 



BEFORE THE MERCY SEAT 

I dreamt I stood, a naked soul, before the 
throne of God. 

And He questioned me, saying : What hast thou 
done with thy innocence, that fine white garment 
wherewith I clothed thee? 

I answered in bitter shame: I have trod the 
paths and breathed the airs whereby is innocence 
slain; the mire of humanity is upon me. 

God said: What hast thou done with thy cour- 
age, that stout shield wherewith I did provide 
thee? 

I answered, utterly cast down: Alas, my shield 
is reft in twain, for it hath indeed been merci- 
lessly battered. 

God said: What hast thou done with thy 
reason, that keen sword wherewith I armed thee? 

I answered, overwhelmed with shame: The 
miasmas of the slums breathed upon it, and the 
sight of misery blinded it, and the voice of un- 
heeded wrong thundered upon it, so that I am 
clean bereft thereof. 

God said : What hast thou done with thy love, 
that glory wherewith I crowned thee? 

I answered: I have so squandered it upon thy 
creatures that I know not if the remnant be a 
fitting gift to lay at thy feet. 

And I held out my empty hands. 

God said : What is that in thy hands that shines 
as fine gold? 

And behold, it was human love. 



47 



TO MY SISTER ELLEN 

Close is the tie of flesh that binds us twain, 
But closer yet the soul-tie, for I see 
The Lamp of Solace, burning steadily. 

Raised by your hand, when through the wastes of 
Pain 

My way was set; and as I look again, 

Lo, the old play-name now comes back to me, 
Fraught with new readings of love's mystery, — 

My "mother-sister," runs the old refrain. 

Yet most I own the tie for tears we shed 

Together; well I mind me of a day 

When you and I and she who might not stay 
Long mourning with us, wept our newly-dead. . . 

Oh, joy and pain may fade throughout the 
years, 

But not the tie was forged of those shed tears! 



48 



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